


After the Fall

by dracoqueen22



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Gen, M/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:23:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winning the war was easy. Recovering afterward was the hard part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written both before the official spelling of the Espada's names emerged, along with the official spellings of the terms Vizard, Arrancar, etc. I prefer the scanlated spellings so that is what I use. Also, Lilynette's true relationship to Stark was revealed after I wrote this fic so it doesn't apply here.

The air still stank of blood and ash. No matter how shallowly Jyuushiro breathed, he couldn’t escape the horrible stench. He swore he tasted it on his tongue, and the very odor hung heavy over his heart.   
  
He hated this assignment. He hated it more than anything. And just a little, Jyuushiro hated Genryuusai-sensei for giving it to him.   
  
But Jyuushiro was also well-aware that said assignment required someone of seniority and fortitude, who could handle the death and loss and destruction and despair. Someone strong with squared shoulders and eyes that had already seen death a thousand times over.   
  
Someone like Jyuushiro or Shunsui or Retsu-senpai. Only Retsu-senpai already had her hands full, and Shunsui was in no condition to be here. Truth be told, Shunsui was in no condition to do much of anything at all.   
  
That was another reason Jyuushiro didn’t want to be here. He’d rather be at Shunsui’s side than poking through destroyed buildings and piles of rubble looking for corpses. Proof of Aizen’s defeat. And rescuing the fallen Shinigami who deserved to be respected properly.   
  
There were so many missing, so many unaccounted for. And Jyuushiro hated it.   
  
“Ukitake-taichou!”   
  
He looked up from a pile of rubble he had been pretending to peruse to find one of his lower seats approaching at a hurry. Soot smudged over her fair cheeks, and her eyes were darkened. She hadn’t fought in Aizen’s war, but seeing the aftermath was almost as bad.   
  
“Yes, Saeki-kun?”   
  
Her hands wrung together, and she sounded breathless. “We found something,” she explained as Jyuushiro moved to follow her quick and sure steps across the rubble.   
  
“Something?”   
  
“Something as in not a Shinigami.” Saeki-kun chewed on her bottom lip. “He had remnants of a Hollow’s mask on him.”   
  
Ah, one of Aizen’s Arrancar then. To be expected. Many of them had fallen in the assault on Karakura. Or at least, the replica of Karakura that Kisuke-kun had erected for the purpose of their battle.   
  
Jyuushiro inclined his head. “I see.”   
  
“Not exactly.” Saeki-kun wrung her fingers together again and looked up at him from out of the corner of her eyes. “He’s not conscious. But… um… he’s not dead either.”   
  
That could be a problem. If the Arrancar wasn’t dead… well, there were plenty of people who would fix that problem for him. It went against Jyuushiro’s conscience just a tad, but it would also be fighting a losing battle to say otherwise. And he supposed it also depended on just who had been dug from the rubble. If he were one of Aizen’s higher ranked Arrancar, then he might prove useful in locating or pointing out possible lingering threats.   
  
Usefulness before revenge after all.   
  
Jyuushiro bit back a sigh. “Thank you, Saeki-kun.”  
  
They swiftly approached where several of the division members encircled a fallen form but still weren’t within attacking distance of it either. They all eyed the beaten, bloody form warily as though it planned to reach up and take a bite out of any of them at any given moment.   
  
He raised his voice, lifting a hand to gather his subordinates attention but in the process pulling at the healing wound in his abdomen. Jyuushiro carefully hid his wince.   
  
“I’ll take it from here,” he informed everyone as he approached the bloody, barely recognizable man coated in a thin layer of dust and debris. “You can continue to search the rubble.”   
  
He was treated to a chorus of salutes and “yes, sirs” before his subordinates scattered, leaving Jyuushiro plenty of room to get closer to the beaten body. Err, bodies. Because apparently there were two of them, and it took Jyuushiro less than ten seconds to recognize them.   
  
Primera Espada Coyote Stark and his fraccion – though to be more accurate the other half of his soul, Lilinette Gingerback. Had they separated upon Stark’s defeat? The latter looked to be in worst condition, a mottle of bruises and blood. The former was covered in blood from where Shunsui had nearly cleaved him in two, but it was dried and caked until it left him covered in a grayish-brown shade. Frankly, Jyuushiro was impressed that Stark had lived. And despite the fact Saeki-san had claimed them to be unconscious, bleary eyes peeled open and peered at Jyuushiro as the Espada drew in a labored breath.   
  
“Shini… gami,” Stark rasped, making no efforts to move. “That brat… didn’t kill… you.”   
  
The patched up hole in his chest chose that moment to itch and throb like mad.   
  
“I’m quite resilient,” Jyuushiro replied, rather disturbed by the blood that flecked across Stark’s lips with each word. “And so are you it appears.”   
  
Stark laughed. But it was more of a chuckle, dry and brief, as his fingers twitched. His eyes slid slowly to Lilinette, curled up beside him, before moving back toward Jyuushiro.   
  
“Not… in my benefit.”   
  
Ah. He expected to be killed. And Jyuushiro knew good and well that he ought to. Stark was a Hollow, and more than that, he was an Espada. He’d fought against them in Aizen’s war, albeit reluctantly. Stark was supposed to die. Except…  
  
Jyuushiro’s eyes flickered to Lilinette, gaze softening. His logic told him that the small girl, curled up in a dried pool of her own blood and covered in bruises, was only an Arrancar and another piece of Stark. That she was hardly human, hardly blameless, and just as worthy of death as Stark.   
  
But there was another side of Jyuushiro. A side where his honor lived and where he recoiled at the thought of drawing his sword against a helpless and defenseless child. A female child at that, one who hardly looked like a threat in her current state.   
  
“You may be wrong,” Jyuushiro commented. Knowing he was probably making a huge mistake but tired of being too late and too useless. “You were Aizen’s Primera Espada. You must have some information that could be of use.”   
  
Stark laughed again, a hollow and bitter sound. “He… treated us like trash. Disposed of us… as though we meant nothing. You think… he told us… anything?”   
  
Jyuushiro frowned. “Do you want to die?”   
  
“Am I even alive?” Stark asked. He shifted, just barely an inch, but it was enough to cause pain to radiate across his dust-covered face, turning his brown hair a sickly shade of grey.   
  
His hand, the nearest to Lilinette, twitched again, as though desperate to touch her. To confirm whether she was alive or dead, there or missing. To cling to the other half of his soul.   
  
Jyuushiro wavered as a wind rose and tugged at his hair and clothing, bringing him a fresh whiff of death and blood and ash. The dim sound of his subordinate’s voices as they continued to dig through the rubble. The sight of various bodies set out in a line on a clear patch of ground – fallen allies who deserved a proper burial.   
  
“That’s not a question I can answer for you,” Jyuushiro answered and glanced again at Lilinette. Who hadn’t moved. Hadn’t stirred. Hadn’t so much as twitched. Lying there so quiet and still like a broken doll.   
  
Jyuushiro turned, decision made. Momentarily leaving them, Jyuushiro found the nearest of his third-seats – Sentarou – and issued his orders. For Stark to be taken immediately to the fourth division and treated for his wounds. No, he was not to be killed, and anyone who tried to do so would face Jyuushiro’s wrath. In the meantime, Jyuushiro would present himself to the captain-commander and explain his reasoning.   
  
Seireitei was not so forgiving after Aizen’s war, but perhaps Jyuushiro could convince Genryuusai-sensei to be sensible. After all, concessions had been made for Neliel-san and her companions in the same manner that Genryuusai-sensei had ignored the Hollow within Ichigo-kun and his fellow Vizard.  
  
Perhaps Genryuusai-sensei understood that it was their blindness, their clinging to ancient and outdated traditions that had allowed Aizen to so effectively deceive them. Jyuushiro hoped that the captain-commander’s new understanding would serve him in this instance as well.   
  
While his subordinates scrambled to obey behind him, Jyuushiro paused atop a piece of debris to survey what was left of the fake town. Nothing but shattered buildings and a few crumbled towers at the four corners where Kisuke-kun’s barrier had fallen so surprisingly quick. Nothing but blood and tears and the lingering, bitter scent of betrayal and one man’s madness.   
  
“Ukitake-taichou?”   
  
Sentarou sounded solemn, composed, one of the changes after the war that Jyuushiro could’ve done without. He missed the loud and almost obnoxious behavior.   
  
“The… uh… the other Arrancar…?”   
  
The captain bit back on a sigh and tried to ignore the strange clamping feeling of guilt and despair inside of him. “Yes, I know.” His shoulders were suddenly so very heavy, and the still-healing wound in his chest throbbed like mad. “Bring her, too.”   
  
“Ah… yes, sir,” Sentarou said, so quiet but understanding. No argument on his part.   
  
Jyuushiro didn’t turn around. Couldn’t watch as his subordinates gingerly extracted the rest of Stark from the rubble and carefully laid Lilinette near – but not alongside – the fallen Shinigami.   
  
Jyuushiro wondered how Shunsui was faring, and vowed to see his oldest and dearest friend as soon as night fell. He had the strangest urge to hold Shunsui’s hand, even if he was as useless there as he was here.   
  
And he wondered, as he moved on to search more rubble, how it would feel to lose half your soul. How it was possible, and how one survived such a thing.  
  
\- - -   
  
Weeks passed, moving painfully slow as they had in the wake of Aizen’s first treachery. The Shinigami healed. They rebuilt. They restructured and reorganized. They grieved and waited and blamed and tried to pull themselves together bit by agonizing bit.   
  
Jyuushiro didn’t exactly forget Stark, but there was precious little time to spend in thought about the ex-Espada either. Truth and circumstance unfolded and it soon became clear that Stark hadn’t been the only survivor. The sixth Espada, Grimmjow, had also survived. As had the third, Halibel. And Jyuushiro wasn’t sure what to call Szayel’s current state, somewhere in between living and existing. Not quite dead but not quite alive either.   
  
Not that Jyuushiro had any say on his fate. The eighth Espada’s current situation had been entirely handed over to Kurotsuchi, and frankly, Jyuushiro didn’t want to know. The mere act of considering it made his stomach churn and bile rise in his throat.   
  
Jyuushiro wasn’t sure what Genryuusai-sensei had planned for the surviving Espada, save that immediate execution wasn’t going to happen. Imprisonment was possible. Banishment to Hueco Mundo perhaps. They were unlikely to cause any problems now that their leader was defeated.   
  
Stark, like the other survivors, was cordoned off in a section of the fourth division under a heavy, constantly changing guard that usually consisted of at least one lieutenant level. Jyuushiro had wandered by once, just to see how the first Espada was faring. But Stark had been asleep, looking pale and defeated against the white sheets of his recovery bed.   
  
Jyuushiro himself was a frequent visitor to the fourth division. When not maintaining command over his own division or eating and sleeping, he was here. Where he should be. Sitting in a chair at Shunsui’s bedside like Shunsui had done for him over countless centuries. Holding a hand that was still and warm. Wishing, hoping, praying that eventually, he’d wake up.   
  
It was times like this, surrounded by the utter quiet, consumed by fear and worry and sorrow, that Jyuushiro felt he understood how Stark must feel. Though to be fair, Shunsui was still alive. If in a coma could be counted as such. Was he going to wake? Only time could tell. Retsu-senpai was optimistic, but then, maybe she didn’t have the heart to tell Jyuushiro the truth.   
  
And Jyuushiro sat in this uncomfortable seat, captain’s haori folded neatly on another empty chair with Sougyo no Kotowari placed gently atop it, and bowed his head. His hands wrapped around Shunsui’s, wondering if the light pulse of his own reaitsu would be enough this time. Enough to jar Shunsui from whatever had shoved him to a place where Jyuushiro couldn’t go.   
  
“How did it happen?”   
  
The unexpected voice made Jyuushiro’s head jerk up. He nearly lost his hold on Shunsui’s hand as he whipped his gaze around, eyes instantly finding the man in the doorway. The man – or Arrancar rather – who really shouldn’t be wandering around without any sort of escort either.   
  
Jyuushiro cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. “How else? In Aizen’s war.”   
  
Bandages wrapped around his body, visible everywhere that hospital robe didn’t cover, Stark nodded slowly. His gaze flicked between Jyuushiro and Shunsui constantly.   
  
“Is it my fault?”   
  
It would be easier if Jyuushiro had a face to blame and a name to hate. Easier if he could say that Stark’s attack was what caused his current state and Jyuushiro would get his revenge and everything would be a hell of a lot better than it was now. Except that would be a lie. A lie on top of lies. And Jyuushiro’s just too goddamn tired to even care who was supposed to shoulder the guilt anymore.   
  
What would it prove? What would it heal? It wouldn’t make his best and dearest friend wake up. And it wouldn’t fill the ever-growing hole inside of Jyuushiro. Strange, he woke up some days and really felt like a Hollow.   
  
“Are you looking to carry some blame?”   
  
Stark lifted his shoulders in a shrug, a motion that seemed painful. “I’m not sure.” He glanced at Shunsui, one hand patting down the side of his robe as though smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles. “You didn’t kill me.”   
  
“Should I have?”   
  
“It would’ve been kinder.”   
  
“Would it?” Jyuushiro asked. And he really wanted to know, not just for Stark’s sake, but for his own.   
  
If Shunsui never woke up, what was Jyuushiro going to do? How was he going to think? How was he going to keep living on?   
  
Stark dragged a hand through his hair, somehow younger for his obviously weak disposition and pale skin. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “I’ll let you know when I feel whole again.”   
  
Which would be never. An impossibility now. Stark would never feel complete, not anymore. Not when half of himself was gone. And Jyuushiro’s still not sure how that was possible. Stark was a unique Espada in the first place. But even this went beyond the realm of what anyone in Soul Society understood about Hollow, Arrancar, and the existence of both.   
  
“I understand,” Jyuushiro replied. And truly, he did.   
  
Shunsui wasn’t awake. Wasn’t here laughing and smiling and teasing. Calling Jyuushiro’s name and sharing a bottle of sake with him. Their reaitsu wasn’t coiling together in lazy twists from long years of companionship.   
  
Instead, Shunsui was lying there. Dead if not for the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. The sound of his breathing the only sign of life. He was so still, so utterly still that he might’ve been shaped from wax. And he wasn’t awake.  
  
Stark shifted, a sign of discomfort and he looked away, half-turning out of the doorway. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.  
  
“For what?”   
  
But the Arrancar was never given the chance to answer because his apparent escape from his hospital bed had been discovered, and Retsu-senpai came into view. Her smile pleasant but her tone sharp and reprimanding as she rushed to escort the swaying man back to his room, bed, and special Shinigami guard.   
  
Leaving Jyuushiro to the stillness and the silence with more to ponder then he thought himself capable of considering.   
  
\- - -  
  
The new Chamber 46 and a Shinigami council consisting of all the captains – newly appointed and old guard – of the Gotei-13 made their decision a week later. One that Jyuushiro felt his honor could at least stomach without the urge to commit suicide in order to restore itself.   
  
The surviving Hollow were given a choice. Make themselves useful to the Shinigami in some capacity and consent to a period of observation. Or be returned to Hueco Mundo disarmed and all but helpless.   
  
It wasn’t really a choice, all things considered, but Jyuushiro thought it much better than immediate execution. Not that the Arrancar looked grateful. In fact, the blue-haired one – Grimmjow – was downright murderous. But he consented anyway. Just like the others. And Jyuushiro couldn’t help but catch Stark’s eye, something passing between them. Something a lot like understanding.   
  
Shunsui still hadn’t wakened. And things were looking grimmer by the passing day. There were talks. Talks that made Jyuushiro furious to the bone. Talks of replacing Shunsui’s captaincy on a permanent rather than interim basis. Talks of possible long-term care and whether one could even define his condition as living. Talks of ending his suffering.   
  
Jyuushiro wouldn’t stand for any of it. He fought and argued and flared his reaitsu at anyone who so much as mentioned _mercy_ or _comatose_ to him. He could handle both the thirteenth and the eighth divisions until Shunsui woke up. _Until_ not if or maybe. Until and when.   
  
A growl of anger spilled past Jyuushiro’s lips, and his curled fist slammed against his tray. Knocking the tea and all it’s accessories to the floor where both pot and dishware shattered. Tea spilled everywhere, cookies scattered with crumbs in their wake. Jyuushiro couldn’t be bothered to care; the brief loss of control made him feel a mite better. Just enough that he didn’t think he’d lash out at the first person to speak to him.   
  
“Man, if I were you, I’d fire the guy who brought that to me,” a voice commented with faint amusement. “Then I’d make them clean up the mess.”   
  
Jyuushiro looked up, finding that he was not alone as he had thought himself to be out in the garden courtyard of the fourth division. He was supposed to be enjoying the warm spring day, calming himself for another round of arguing with those who thought they knew what was best for Shunsui. People who hadn’t spent the last two thousand years at his side. People who didn’t know him at all.  
  
Jyuushiro sighed, embarrassed that his behavior had been witnessed. “There was nothing wrong with the tea,” he responded, slumping as he laid a hand across Sougyo no Kotowari’s hilt for comfort. “Instead, it’s my control that’s lacking.”   
  
“Understandable.” Hands in his pockets, Stark’s waraji-clad feet crunched over the stone pathway as he approached. “Mind if I sit?”   
  
“Feel free,” Jyuushiro said with a vague gesture at the pottery. “Watch out for the broken pieces.” His voice was dull, barely concealing his anger.   
  
A soft chuckle was Stark’s answer as he lowered himself beside Jyuushiro. Tilting his head back to look up at the blue, blue sky.   
  
“For what it’s worth, I’m on your side. Not that anyone cares about the opinion of an Arrancar.”   
  
“It’s worth more than you know,” the captain answered honestly, lips twitching towards a smile but never actually managing the expression. “How’s the fifth?”   
  
Stark shrugged. “I’m getting used to working with others. It’s different but not bad.” His eyes seemed to be tracking the path of a single, fluffy white cloud as it lazily drifted across the sky. “Hirako is… _interesting_.”   
  
“Not even a century’s passing could change his eccentricity,” Jyuushiro agreed musingly. “In fact, it seems to have worsened it.”   
  
A chuckle, just a pale shade of amusement, echoed from the man beside him. “Compared to some of my former allies, my captain’s the picture of sanity,” Stark said and then quieted, as though stepping on some taboo topic that had always been carefully avoided before. “He’s very… energetic. Doesn’t leave much time for sitting and thinking.”   
  
“A plus in my opinion,” Jyuushiro replied, forcing his fingers to unclench, trying to ease their rigidity in the same manner he was attempting to soothe the turmoil in his reaitsu. “There’s not a day I’ve spent where I wasn’t caught up in one or the other.”   
  
Stark breathed slowly, in and out. “It’s like… I’m missing something,” he said after a noticeable pause. “Only I can’t remember what it is. I keep looking for it. Searching my room. Retracing my steps. And then I remember, she’s not missing; she’s gone. What am I looking for?” He shook his head, eyes shuttering closed against the brilliant sky. “What am I looking for?”   
  
“Would you rather be in Hueco Mundo?”   
  
He made a sound of utter disgust. “By the gods, no. That place is a wasteland. Empty sand and dark sky and desolation. It stank of death. And sometimes, I’m forced to dream of it. I’d rather not have to live there, too.”   
  
Jyuushiro inclined his head. “Aizen must’ve promised something great for you to join him. Otherwise, I am hard-pressed to believe you would have done so of your own accord.”   
  
Silence settled between them, not awkward but anticipatory. He knew that he’d surprised the Arrancar and the soft chuckle that divided the air between them proved Jyuushiro’s assumption.   
  
“That’s probably the most polite way anyone has asked me why I would follow a deranged lunatic,” Stark commented, hands dangling loosely as he leaned forward on his elbows. “It had nothing to do with power and glory. But he did promise me something. Haven’t you wondered how Lilinette came to be?”   
  
The slight pause before his former partner’s name proved that grief still held Stark in his tight grip. Yet, he was stronger than he seemed; Stark preserved nonetheless. Even daring to speak of her. It was a remarkable thing.   
  
Eyes shifting, Jyuushiro watched his companion, pleasantly surprised by the open honesty in the Hollow’s expression. He wasn’t intensely guarded like so many others in the same situation as him. And if Jyuushiro looked beyond the obvious, the white bone that clearly denoted Stark as an Arrancar, he could see a very attractive man.   
  
“There have been hypotheses,” Jyuushiro admitted. “Do I take it you’re going to clarify them for me?”  
  
But he never got his reply.  
  
“Stark-fukutaichou!”   
  
A woman called from the open doorway that led back into the fourth division, impatient and annoyed. Jyuushiro and Stark both glanced behind them before Stark stood, a soft smile on his lips as he shoved his hands into his pockets.   
  
“It seems it’s a story I’ll have to save for another time,” Stark said, head tipping in a shallow bow. He moved past the bench with his usual lazy grace, heading toward the waiting woman when a thought occurred to Jyuushiro.   
  
He turned, voice raised before he could second-guess himself. “We should continue this at another time,” Jyuushiro called out. “My curiosity hasn’t been sated.”   
  
A hint of a smile curled Stark’s lips. “If you insist,” he said, and with a faint salute, he continued on his way.   
  
Jyuushiro shifted back around on the bench, one foot brushing the shattered pottery. He felt strangely calm inside, the former anger bleeding out of him and leaving only a dull annoyance behind. He wondered if Stark’s lackadaisical attitude had someone rubbed off on him.   
  
Perish the thought.   
  
* * * *


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes, peace and quiet were overrated.

Months ago, Jyuushiro never would've thought he'd long for the days when Sentarou and Kiyone would bicker in the office. When his lower seats would come to him, whining about this, that, and the other and he'd listen patiently. When he could sit in his office, dutifully signing paperwork and listen to the noises of a busy division. When he could smile to himself, breathe in a little peace, and then brace himself for the inevitable intrusion.

Jyuushiro never would've believed that he'd miss those days. Except for right now, sitting in his quiet office, listening to the wind rattle at the shutters over his window. It wasn't quite nighttime or quitting time, but his division was silent all the same. There was too much _something_ in the air. Grief and anger and regret. It hung over all of Seireitei, and Jyuushiro couldn't keep it from infecting his division as well.

It was slowly driving him mad.

Sighing, Jyuushiro pushed aside his paperwork and rooted around in his desk, in the bottom drawer and the far back of it where he knew Shunsui had stashed his own special jug. Shunsui had stashes like this everywhere he tended to frequent. Everywhere except his own division that was. Ise-san was extremely adept at ferreting them out and disposing of them.

It was so easy for Jyuushiro to recall those moments. Less and less in the onset of Aizen's war but so prevalent beforehand. Times when Shunsui would sneak into his office, even in the middle of the night, and they'd reminisce over sake. Only the best because Shunsui wouldn't settle for anything less, their reaitsu settled and coiling together on the edges.

Jyuushiro sighed, setting the bowls out in front of him and pouring some rice wine into his. He contemplated pouring for a Shunsui who should be here but wasn't, but then, that would be pointless.

" _A waste of good alcohol!_ " as Shunsui would've said.

It was never any good to drink alone. So why was Jyuushiro sitting here, lifting the cup to his lips anyway? He wasn't sure. He simply let the flavor roll over his tongue, let the full sweetness dance across his lips.

Gods above and below, he missed Shunsui. Missed him like he'd mourn a lost limb. A part of himself that was irreplaceable.

But knocking on the door interrupted Jyuushiro in the middle of his third drink. He paused, looking up to find a familiar if not unexpected face. Especially since he was supposed to be alone in his division.

"Am I interrupting something?" Stark asked, his drawl and casual smile making something strange warm inside the captain's belly.

Either that or it was the sake. Jyuushiro thought it'd be better for his sanity if the cause was the latter.

He glanced at the jug and the two bowls on his desk, one of them noticeably empty. "Nothing official," Jyuushiro said dryly and gestured for his guest to enter. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"I seem to recall owing _you_ some answers," Stark answered with a shrug, strolling inside but not taking the offered seat. Instead preferring to look down at Jyuushiro with a strange expression on his face. "Walking by, I noticed that you seemed to be the only one here."

"That I am," Jyuushiro said and contemplated his sake, contemplated more of it. A lot more than the one mere jug could provide.

It would be so nice to let go for once. He'd been holding himself in for so long, for so many weeks and months now. His shoulders felt heavy, compacted, pressed down by so much weight Jyuushiro was surprised his illness hadn't flared up to the point that he too was hospitalized. It felt wrong and odd to be here, drinking without Shunsui present. As if Jyuushiro was missing a vital part of the experience.

Melancholy fought its way into Jyuushiro's mood.

"You know," Stark began.

Which once again dragged Jyuushiro from his musings. It made him wonder if the sake was affecting him more than he thought. Odd because Jyuushiro had never been such a lightweight.

"You know, you should never drink alone. It only makes things worse." Stark tipped his head at that statement.

Jyuushiro's fingers stroked around the smooth edge of the expensively decorated cup. "Is this knowledge from personal experience?"

"Perhaps." Stark's eyes were like piercing daggers, raking Jyuushiro from the tip of his white head to what was visible of him behind the desk. "Would you mind if I joined you?"

Honestly, Jyuushiro's first instinct was not to deny Stark as he would've thought. He felt strangely calm in the Arrancar's presence. Perhaps because they had a kinship, sharing a sense of understanding. Stark's loss of Lilinette seemed like a precursor to the anxious waiting and hoping spent at Shunsui's bedside.

Jyuushiro rose to his feet. Which must have seemed like a rejection to Stark, because a look of disappointment mixed with resignation flashed across his face. The captain quickly shook his head to prove otherwise.

"It's not quite regulation to allow drinking within a division, even if I'm the captain here," Jyuushiro put in with a small smile. "We'd be more comfortable somewhere else. Perhaps my home if you don't mind. I'm not up to the company of a multitude of others right now."

Surprise quickly replaced the disappointment as Stark blinked at him. His reaitsu rippled and conveyed his shock.

"I… would be honored," he said, obviously searching for the right words.

In that moment, Jyuushiro felt a stirring of guilt. It was obvious Stark wasn't well-received among the Gotei 13. Which was to be expected considering that Shinigami and Hollow weren't meant to mix in an agreeable way. Still, Jyuushiro regretted that he hadn't paid much attention to how well Stark was adapting and fitting into Seireitei.

"Good," Jyuushiro said and quickly put away the cups, tucking the half-drank jug under his arm to take home. It'd be later replaced and saved to celebrate Shunsui's wakening. "If you'd follow me please."

Stark readily complied.

The sun had set while Jyuushiro was in his office, contemplating nothing and yet everything at once, turning the sky a brilliant range of oranges and reds. This time of year, night always came so slowly. But once it did, it descended fully save for the bright sparks of stars hanging in the dark.

There seemed no need for Jyuushiro and Stark to exchange words as they made the short walk from the thirteenth division to Jyuushiro's nearby home – a convenient location considering the tendency of his illness to flare up at inopportune times. Stark was much like him, locked in his contemplations, and Jyuushiro shocked himself with how at ease he felt in the Arrancar's presence.

After arriving, Jyuushiro settled them on the back veranda, facing his lush garden underneath a blue-black sky that was quickly filling with stars. The rising full moon gleamed down on them and bathed the trees and flowers in a gentle, pale light. There was a slight breeze, perfumed with flowers, which brushed over their skin. It was pleasant, the calm only highlighted by the wonderful, full flavor of the sake.

Stark sat next to Jyuushiro, legs draped over the edge of the porch and bare feet prodding at the grass. Every so often, their thighs would touch, and Jyuushiro startled himself with how much he liked Stark's warmth so near to him. The Arrancar had already proven himself to be a worthy companion, and the quiet lacked any trace of discomfort. It was almost like being out here with Shunsui. Only Jyuushiro rarely noticed when he and his best friend touched or moved in sync. They'd been doing it so long that it no longer registered. It was odd but not alarming that he could be like that with someone else. Particularly someone he'd known for so short a time.

Jyuushiro uncorked the sake, pouring Stark a cupful from the dish he had procured from his own kitchen. Stark returned the favor, the lip of the jug a bare clink against the cup. They tasted the first sip in companionable silence, Jyuushiro letting the flavor wash over his tongue as Stark made a noise of enjoyment. He swallowed, admired the liquor in his cup, and finally turned to Jyuushiro.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

Stark gestured with his cup. "The reason I caught you drinking in your office. By yourself. When most everyone had already gone home."

"I'm not sure caught is the right word. I wasn't trying to hide," Jyuushiro said with a small smile.

"How true." Stark's mouth curled with faint amusement. "Still, you weren't drinking out of celebration."

"No, I wasn't."

Jyuushiro let quiet wrap around them for a moment as he savored the sake, mind bobbing through happier times. Times before Aizen and his madness. Times when they'd seemed so carefree but something seethed beneath the surface.

"Didn't you promise me answers?" he finally asked.

"I did," Stark agreed, and Jyuushiro watched as he stretched out his long limbs with a faint groan. As though the stress and fatigue of the day had finally made itself known. "You wanted to know why I'd side with Aizen."

Jyuushiro inclined his head. "And you countered with a vague reference to your Lilinette."

Stark barely flinched at the sound of her name, though her loss still must strike him deeply. She wasn't only his companion after all, but a part of him. And though Stark's reaitsu felt only marginally lessened for her loss, Jyuushiro knew the pain of it hadn't faded. Not in such a short time.

Taking a deep breath, Stark appeared to focus on his drink. "How much do you know about Hollows? And about their evolution?"

"As much as the next Shinigami I suppose. You'd have to ask a member of Kurotsuchi's research center for the technical aspects." Jyuushiro frowned in thought.

Stark nodded slowly, as though more to himself. "In Hueco Mundo, power is everything. The strength to survive. To feed and grow. To exist. Every Hollow in Hueco Mundo seeks power. Unless you're one of the lucky few who have it all on your own, and even then, it's not without its drawbacks."

"Drawbacks?"

"The stronger you are, the less other Hollows can survive in your presence," Stark explained quietly, taking a long sip of his sake. "Until Aizen came along, Lilinette was the only company I knew."

Loneliness. It radiated around Stark with a tangible presence. It'd been what drove Stark to Aizen's side. And now, it'd only been worsened by Lilinette's loss. The Shinigami weren't an adequate replacement. They could hardly be called Stark's allies, much less his friends.

For that revelation, Jyuushiro felt he owed Stark something of equal value in return.

"This sake," the captain mused, watching the liquid swirl around and around in the cup. "It's Shunsui's favorite. Every week, we'd share a bottle and reminisce on old times."

The wind stirring through the trees highlighted the following moment of silence. Beside him, Stark shifted, knee pressing against Jyuushiro's own. His shoulder knocking briefly against the older man's in a companionable motion of comfort.

"When he wakes up, we should all share a bottle," Stark said thoughtfully and drained his cup dry.

Jyuushiro turned his head to look at the Arrancar, seeing nothing but earnest honesty in Stark's eyes. He wasn't just speaking to hear himself talk. Stark meant it. He believed Shunsui would wake up. He actually believed it.

Something surged to life inside of Jyuushiro. Something he thought long buried and abandoned. Something a lot like hope.

Jyuushiro couldn't be sure what inspired his next action. Maybe it was the sake. Maybe it was the atmosphere. Maybe it was Stark's words or his calm presence or the fact that outside of Shunsui's unchanging condition, Stark was the one constant in Jyuushiro's life. He was there, and he was handsome, and he was smart, and Jyuushiro wanted to kiss him.

So he did.

He closed the space between them, mouth meeting Stark's in an awkward, unplanned press of lips that was flavored with sake but tasted oh-so-sweet. Jyuushiro could almost taste Stark's surprise. He momentarily stilled before returning the kiss, lips moving against Jyuushiro's mouth. Reiatsu buzzed between them, rippling with a mixture of emotion that went unnamed, and the kiss deepened.

Jyuushiro flicked his tongue against Stark's lips and quietly requested interest. And Stark's mouth parted, their tongues meeting. Jyuushiro abandoned his sake cup, letting it clatter to the wooden deck as he lifted a hand, threading fingers through Stark's unexpectedly soft hair. He wasn't sure why it surprised him. Perhaps because he subconsciously expected a Hollow to be unattractive in some fashion. With wire for hair and sandpaper for lips and cold, cold skin.

But Stark was none of these things. His hair was smooth, almost silky to the touch. His skin warm beneath the press of Jyuushiro's fingers. His lips soft and pliant, kissing with an equal if not unforeseen skill. He was so utterly human that a part of Jyuushiro's mind was baffled. Even as a stronger, warmth-drenched part of him soaked up the taste and touch of Stark.

Jyuushiro hummed low in his throat, pressing closer, wanting to do more than kiss, wanting to just plain _feel._ He thought by the return of the kiss that Stark would've desired much the same.

Until a palm pressed against Jyuushiro's chest, stopping him from leaning forward. The kiss ended as Jyuushiro's fingers slipped from tangling in Stark's hair to wrap around his wrist.

"Are you pushing me away because you don't want me or because you think it's the noble thing to do?" Jyuushiro demanded, a slow ache building inside him.

Something flashed in grayish blue eyes. "You're grieving and not entirely sober, _Ukitake-taichou_ ," Stark said with a slight emphasis on the title and a strain in his voice. As though it took every ounce of his control to do this. "Besides, I feel like I'd be taking advantage of a man who could easily break me in half the next day."

Jyuushiro chuckled just a bit. Wrapped up in Stark's honor was a great sense of self-preservation and that amused him.

"I've lived for centuries. I'm also in a position of authority, and I'm the one who invited you here." He leaned in closer, until his breath was a puff of warm air over Stark's moist lips. "If anyone's taking advantage here, it's me," he purred and closed the distance between them, sealing their mouths together.

Stark groaned into the kiss, lips parting and allowing their tongues to touch. Jyuushiro felt his arousal burn hotter as the man's taste danced on his tongue. Almonds and amaretto. As though Stark lived on coffee rather than tea. And it was mixed with the taste of the expensive, fine sake.

Jyuushiro met no resistance as he urged Stark backward with a palm on the vice-captain's chest. Stark sprawled across the wooden decking of the veranda, and Jyuushiro blanketed him. Lining their bodies up perfectly as he deepened the kiss, nibbling at Stark's lips and tongue teasing the inner contours of his mouth.

Jyuushiro lowered his hips, letting their groins come into contact, gratified to find an answering hardness meet his own. Stark was only being noble in his own way then. He did want this, want _Jyuushiro_ , and that realization thrummed through his being. But no more than the realization that he wanted Stark in return. His fingers flexed around the Arrancar's wrist as he deepened the kiss, trying to drown in Stark's unique taste.

Another sound of pleasure escaped the Arrancar, and Jyuushiro rolled his hips, a slow and steady motion that made the desire racing through his body sizzle. Stark's free hand lifted to tangle in the loose strands of Jyuushiro's hair, an encouraging action. Stark's reaitsu was a throbbing, balanced pulse against him. It felt of his interest and arousal.

"Do you want me to stop?" Jyuushiro questioned, lips tracing over Stark's jaw, tongue flicking against the tanned skin.

Stark's head tilted, granting further access to his bare throat. "It depends." The vibrations of his voice palpable were against Jyuushiro's lips. "Will this make it better?"

"I don't know," he captain answered honestly, the full bloom of warmth inside of him unexpected but welcome. "Does it work for you?"

"I haven't tried." Stark paused, as though considering as a shudder wracked his frame, Jyuushiro's mouth pressed warm and wet to his throat. "But it might help. Remind me that I'm here. That I'm alive."

Jyuushiro understood all too well. "That I'm not alone," he added quietly, fingers flexing around Stark's wrist before releasing it. He nuzzled the hollow of Stark's throat, inhaling the unique scent.

"Yes," the Arrancar agreed, voice barely louder than a whisper. "But regret is a harsh mistress, and sometimes, hurts more than the loneliness."

"You would regret me?"

Stark's newly freed hand curled around Jyuushiro's back, fingers pressing against his spine in a soothing manner. "No. But I'm afraid you'd regret it come morning."

Lifting his head, Jyuushiro forced Stark to meet his gaze. His free hand moved to the Arrancar's chin where he stroked over the thin goatee.

"I thought you would know that I'm not that sort of man."

"Honestly? I don't really know what kind of man you are," Stark said in return, and his chin dipped, causing Jyuushiro's fingers to slide toward his lips. His tongue slipped out to tease, warm and wet. "And frankly, I'm surprised that I have any self-preservation left."

Blinking, Jyuushiro tried to decipher Stark's convoluted reasoning. Though it was hard to focus with the teasing way Stark's tongue flicked across his fingertips.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but is this your method of refusing?"

Blue eyes flashed in the moonlight, dark with hunger, deep with desire. "No," he murmured and drew Jyuushiro's fingers completely into his mouth. Stark sucked on them with obvious, lewd intent.

Jyuushiro's eyelashes fluttered at the unexpected thrill such a simple act gave him. He licked his own lips, palm flattening on Stark's chest as he dragged his fingers downward, reaching for the ties to Stark's shihakushou. Jyuushiro tugged on them, not enough to undo the knot but to let Stark know his intentions.

When no protest was forthcoming, Jyuushiro yanked sharply on the obi and loosened the ties to Stark's hakama. Stark's tongue played with Jyuushiro's fingertips, and his own hand massaged at Jyuushiro's skull as his other moved to Jyuushiro's clothed backside.

Neither of them seemed to care that they were still outside. Underneath the bright gaze of the moon with a cool wind teasing at what little skin was exposed bit by bit.

Jyuushiro dragged his fingers from Stark's mouth with much reluctance and soothed himself by replacing them with his lips. He kissed Stark, fully enjoying the vice-captain's unique taste, hoping to hear more of those throaty growls in Stark's throat. They moved together. Bodies rocking and rolling, fingers seeking out ties and undoing them with more dexterity than should've been possible from two supposedly tipsy men.

Stark's obi unraveled. Jyuushiro pushed aside the layers of shitagi, laying his palm against bare, hot skin. Stark shivered. From cold or arousal or both, Jyuushiro wasn't sure. Nor did he stop to ask, palm moving upward, over a flat abdomen rippled with muscle. And further still, tracing the edges of a Hollow hole.

A low moan rumbled in Stark's throat flavored the kiss. He arched beneath Jyuushiro, both hands moving to grip the sides of the captain's haori and drag him down. Their bodies connected, hardened lengths grinding together through the layers of cloth.

Well. That was rather unexpected. And incredibly hot.

On impulse, Jyuushiro strengthened his touch, doing more than lightly gliding his fingers over the edge. Instead, he stroked the oddly smooth flesh, felt the warmth practically radiating from Stark's skin. His hands mapping the divot that formed the unique aspect of every Arrancar.

Stark's reaction was immediate and erotic. He arched, breaking away from the kiss with a startled gasp, fingers clenching as he shuddered. Writhing beneath the older man as though something far, far more intimate had been touched. Need shot through Jyuushiro, his own arousal throbbing in his hakama at the erotic sight and sound of Stark so beautiful in his desperation.

Jyuushiro bit back a chuckle, easing up and giving Stark a chance to breathe. Curiosity attacked him, however. If the Hollow hole was so sensitive, what then of the mask? Was it merely bone and decoration?

Jyuushiro licked his lips as he pondered; his mouth lowered before he could stop himself. He exhaled hotly over the white bone and heard Stark mutter something that was certainly a curse, breath hitching. But he didn't protest or demand that Jyuushiro stop. No, Stark's actions better resembled _encouragement_ , and Jyuushiro was all too willing to answer.

He first pressed his lips to that expanse of smooth white. Surprised by the warmth, by the flutter against his lips – like a heartbeat. Stark made a sound low in his throat, a cross between a whimper and a groan, and Jyuushiro answered him by sliding his tongue over the angular creases of the mask. Over the jagged tip of each tooth and the smoother expanse of what could best be described as a jawbone. Each swipe was gentle, almost reverent. And Stark responded with honest need, head falling back as he sucked in a breath.

"Ukitake-san," he gasped, hips churning upward to grind against Jyuushiro, driving the captain's own desire higher and higher. "If you keep doing that-"

He broke off with another choked breath as Jyuushiro's tongue drew careful circles.

"Jyuushiro," he gently corrected. Of all things, Jyuushiro could not stand such formality when he chose to share his bed.

He wanted to hear his name on Stark's lips. He didn't want a polite distance. No, he wanted to close the space between them, to feel skin on skin. And he wanted Stark to return the same feeling, to answer Jyuushiro's desire with equal want of his own.

Stark's hands tugged on his haori pointedly. "Jyuushiro," he agreed, the name a breathy moan that made Jyuushiro lengthen within his hakama. "Clothes. Open. Works better that way."

Jyuushiro couldn't agree more. He abandoned his erotic teasing and drew back, straddling Stark with knees to either side of the lieutenant's hip. Jyuushiro caught and held Stark's gaze as he pulled off his haori and set it to the side, then reaching for his obi and the layers of shitagi.

Desire drenched Stark's eyes until they were such a dark color they were nearly black, and his hands slid around Jyuushiro's now bare waist, fingers tracking the faint ridge of ribs. Jyuushiro ate and ate, but he couldn't gain any weight. But he saw no pity in Stark's gaze, only open lust and appreciation.

"You're not protesting anymore," Jyuushiro said as his hakama sagged.

Stark licked his lips as Jyuushiro wriggled above him. Occasionally grinding down on the erection that strained at the confines of Stark's hakama.

"I'd be a fool to do so at this point, Jyuushiro," he said with a husky laugh. "You're a very desirable man."

Heat spread through Jyuushiro. Damn but he loved the way Stark said his name. Something about the way the syllables danced across his tongue ignited a fire inside him. And a shiver spread across his skin, a shiver that had nothing to do with the breath of nightly wind over his exposed chest. His shitagi still draped his shoulders, providing some warmth.

"The same can be said about you." His palms returned to Stark's flat abdomen where his fingers tickled at the divide between the hem of a hakama and bare skin.

Stark dove into the pleated layers of Jyuushiro's hakama, sneaking around the fundoshi and drawing out his arousal, curling heated fingers around the length. The captain sucked in a breath, rocking forward into the much-needed touch. It felt so good, better than he could've expected for such a simple touch.

Pleasure sizzled down Jyuushiro's spine as Stark stroked him with skilled fingers. It was several moments before he remembered to return the favor, his own hands diving into Stark's hakama and drawing the rigid flesh into the chilly air. His fingers curled around, palm stroking over the rounded head before sliding in a steady rhythm.

Stark groaned, head falling back against the decking as he licked his lips. "Your hands are soft," he said, slowly shifting his rhythm until it matched Jyuushiro's own and they were stroking each other in time.

Jyuushiro's breath hitched as he leaned forward. Bringing their lengths into contact. Combining their grips until he could feel his own heated flesh pressed against Stark's own.

"I hadn't noticed," he commented in return, focusing on the coiling inside of him, a lazy heat that stirred in his gut. He licked his lips and wanted to taste Stark again.

Judging from the look in Stark's eyes, he wanted the same. And wasn't it convenient that Jyuushiro was flexible enough to make it happen?

Jyuushiro leaned forward, trapping their hands and arousals between them, and breathed over Stark's mouth. The smell of sake drifted between them, but Jyuushiro didn't mind. Not when lust burned in Stark's eyes and he closed the space dividing their mouths, sealing his lips over Jyuushiro's mouth. His tongue pushed eagerly inside, hungrily swiping and claiming every available inch.

Jyuushiro moaned, his fingers squeezing in his combined grip, the steady rhythm of stroking unchanged despite the shift in position. Stark's hips had taken on a distinct tempo, arching up into the press of Jyuushiro's fingers as the captain's own movements had him grinding down. It was sloppy but so damn good that Jyuushiro didn't care about the mess they were making of their clothes.

Stark kissed as though he were savoring a unique flavor, slow and languorous. His tongue explored Jyuushiro's mouth as his fingers worked to bring them to completion. The Arrancar dragged his free hand from between their bodies, tangling fingers in strands of white hair. He groaned beneath Jyuushiro as his body surged to meet every rhythmic motion.

Tension coiled in Jyuushiro's belly, and his restraint was nowhere near where it should've been. It'd been too long, too many nights of cold beds with little chance for seeking intimacy. The feel of another's hand on him was too good, too right. And though Jyuushiro would've liked to savor the moment, his body had other plans.

Heat surged through him along with the taste of Stark on his lips and the feel of the man moving fluidly beneath him. Jyuushiro gasped into the sensual kiss as release rippled through him, and he spattered their fingers with liquid warmth. It felt like all of the tension of the past few months, all of the stress and the pain and the long nights staring at the ceiling, drained out of him.

He felt strangely freed and broke away, dropping his mouth to Stark's throat, hoping to give Stark the same sense of pleasure. Jyuushiro focused on the Arrancar, whose motions were growing more and more frantic. His tongue traced skin before his lips moved lower, tongue stroking over white bone. Some strands of his hair slipped from his shoulders to brush teasingly against Stark's chest, a few sliding over the sensitive Hollow hole.

Stark muttered something, sucking in a great gust of air as his release slammed through him. He writhed beneath Jyuushiro, spilling over his fingers. Jyuushiro wished in that moment that he'd been sitting back, that he could have watched Stark as orgasm rippled through him. But this was just as good, he supposed, being able to undo the man by mere touch alone.

Jyuushiro rested his forehead on Stark's bare collarbone, just to the right of the remnants of the mask. He relished in their closeness, in the heat that seemed to radiate from Stark's body like the gentle warmth of a spring sun. Arms came up around him, hands skating down his back and likely streaking his shitagi with their combined release.

Funny how Jyuushiro didn't mind.

The comfort of the moment surrounded him, and Jyuushiro luxuriated in it until Stark shifted beneath him. He was most likely a little uncomfortable thanks to the stickiness centered over his groin. Jyuushiro was doing his level best to ignore the same discomfort, but warm release had quickly cooled in the breeze.

"Would it be too forward of me to suggest moving this indoors?" Stark asked, hands smoothing up and down Jyuushiro's back.

Jyuushiro put some distance between them, enough that he could plant a soft kiss on Stark's jaw. "Would it be too forward of _me_ to suggest that we share a bath and then my bed?" He wasn't willing to abandon this comfort, not just yet.

Eyes watched him, straightforward and honest. "Where do you see this going, Jyuushiro?"

Shivers trickled down his spine at Stark's voice, but he forced himself to focus. "Wherever we want to take it," Jyuushiro answered, and he nibbled along Stark's jawline, dragging his lips toward Stark's mouth and allowing their gazes to meet.

"Good enough for me," Stark tilted his head to capture Jyuushiro's lips with his own.

Lust sluggishly rose in Jyuushiro's body, inspiring him for a second round. He idly wondered if they'd make it to the bed this time, but then, it didn't really matter. The half-finished bottle of sake was left abandoned, no longer a necessary comfort.

 

***


	3. Chapter 3

Jyuushiro was actually feeling rather well rested. Which was the only reason he was willing to accept this visit so early on a morning when he was supposed to off, sleeping in and relaxing from recent stresses. Not that relaxing was on his agenda and not when he had a nude man sleeping in his bed.

Sitting across from him, Byakuya was sipping at his tea and watching Jyuushiro from the corner of his eyes, contemplative and curious. Perhaps the sight of his senpai with his hair barely brushed and his yukata obviously rumpled was bothering Byakuya. It was rare for Jyuushiro to appear anywhere less than put together. But this was Jyuushiro's home, and it was early in the morning, and Byakuya's visit was unexpected. Not undesired because Jyuushiro always had time for his kouhai, just unexpected.

Jyuushiro cleared his throat and swiped a few strands of hair back behind his ear. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked, reaching for his own tea and stirring in a few teaspoons of honey.

A flurry of emotions flickered over Byakuya's face – he never could completely hide them. He breathed deeply.

"I honestly do not know any other way to subtly lead into this, senpai," Byakuya admitted, and if there was one thing Jyuushiro thanked Aizen's war for, it was that his kouhai had finally abandoned some of his previous stoic behavior. "I came here to express some concern regarding your relationship with Stark-fukutaichou."

Jyuushiro's brow lifted before he could clamp down on his reaction. "Is the concern for me or him?" he asked, the statement as unexpected as Byakuya's visit itself.

"There has been… _talk_ ," Byakuya said, shifting uncomfortably. His fingers flexed around the teacup as though he'd rather be somewhere else at the moment, anywhere else taking about anything else than the current topic. "You've been spending an extensive amount of time with him."

Well, Jyuushiro supposed the rumors were to be expected. When not commanding the thirteenth division or helping Ise-san supervise the eighth or sitting at Shunsui's bedside, Jyuushiro could often be found in Stark's company. Either for a casual dinner, conversation over drinks, or sharing heat and passion in Jyuushiro's bed. Though the latter was less well-known as the other activities.

Jyuushiro inclined his head. "He's an interesting man, Byakuya-kun. Is it too much to believe I might be curious?"

Byakuya, bless him, looked even more uncomfortable. If that were at all possible.

"Seireitei is a breeding ground for gossip, senpai. You probably know that even better than I do. And the rumors that have captivated everyone's attention right now aren't for harmless conversation."

"Ah," Jyuushiro said, nodding slowly and holding his kouhai's gaze. "You are referring to the talk where he shares my bed then?"

"Among others," Byakuya replied, barely concealing a grimace.

But Jyuushiro couldn't be sure if it was because the content of the rumors or the fact that there was gossip in itself. He set his cup back on the table, careful not to rattle the dishware, and folded his hands in his lap.

"This would be one instance in which the rumors pervading Seireitei have a basis in fact," Jyuushiro replied with a deep, slow breath.

He told Byakuya the truth because he trusted his kouhai, and Jyuushiro had never lied to him before. Besides, he wasn't ashamed of his relationship with Stark. Compared to the way the Shinigami were treating Shunsui to the manner in which Stark spoke of him, Jyuushiro was more inclined to see Stark's humanity before he was inclined to dismiss it.

Only someone who knew Byakuya as well as Jyuushiro did would recognize the subtle widening of those grey eyes for what they truly were. An expression of the Kuchiki noble's complete and utter surprise. Byakuya visibly gathered himself together as though trying to find his equilibrium after such a shocking revelation.

His kouhai worked his jaw, seeming to choose his words carefully. "I realize that Kyouraku-san's condition might've… led you open to certain suggestions-"

"Stop right there," Jyuushiro inserted firmly, holding up a hand before Byakuya could continue down that path. "If anyone is to be blamed here, it's me. I invited him, not the other way around. And yes, it may have initially been borne out of a need for comfort. But it hasn't remained that way."

"Senpai… he's a Hollow," Byakuya said, obviously struggling with every revelation that Jyuushiro was blatantly and honestly tossing his direction.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," the older man replied dryly and shifted forward, changing his tone to one that was both serious and uncompromising. "Byakuya-kun, _what_ Stark is matters very little to me compared to _who_ he is. And who he is. A man who has yet to lose faith in himself despite what has happened. He's shown more honor than many Shinigami I know, and he's one of the few who has supported me regarding Shunsui's fate. What he is, Byakuya-kun, is my lover. And that isn't going to change regardless of Soul Society's opinion on the matter."

Silence followed, but he never once took his eyes away from Byakuya's face. The noble held himself together remarkably well, barely twitching after hearing such a declaration. Instead, he inclined his head, loosened his hold on his untouched tea, and returned the cup to the platter.

"I understand," Byakuya said finally and rose to his feet in an elegant motion, a strange gleam in his eyes. "I won't trouble you any more on the matter. And I will do my best, senpai, to ensure that others do the same."

It was as close to an apology as Jyuushiro was going to get, and the very fact that Byakuya was willing to concede meant a lot. Byakuya had only been concerned for him, after all. And that concern was touching.

Jyuushiro smiled. "Thank you, Byakuya-kun. I do hope that the next time you come to tea it will be for more pleasant conversation."

The younger captain nodded again and politely dismissed himself, taking the faint hum of his distressed reiatsu with him. No doubt Jyuushiro had given him much to think about it, and brooding was something Byakuya always best did alone.

In Byakuya's absence, Jyuushiro closed his eyes and sat back, away from the table. One hand lifted to his head, fingers rubbing over his brow where a small ache was building behind his temples. There was a familiar tightening in his chest as well – a coughing fit in the making. So Jyuushiro focused on making his breathing shallow and even, hoping to forestall the inevitable.

The gossip and the rumors didn't bother him. Seireitei wouldn't be complete without them. Nor did Jyuushiro particularly care if the truth came to light. It was, after all, the truth. And Jyuushiro wasn't of the sort to deny his relationship with Stark anyway. It'd be an insult to himself, to his lover, and to the things they'd shared.

Besides, most of Seireitei already considered Jyuushiro to be rapidly losing his sanity. They thought him foolish for continuing to believe in Shunsui's recovery more than six months after the fact.

But a small stirring of reiatsu from behind Jyuushiro made him still, hand dropping from his face.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asked softly, knowing that Stark had purposefully let Jyuushiro know he was there. He was too talented in concealment otherwise.

Soft footfalls padded into the room. Coming to a rest behind him as hands fall on Jyuushiro's shoulders.

"Long enough," Stark answered, thumbs pressing into the knotted muscles in Jyuushiro's neck. "I honestly didn't know Kuchiki-taichou could make that expression."

A small smile curled Jyuushiro's lips. "He's rather skilled at restraining himself," he agreed and let a small sigh escape as Stark's fingers eased the tension he hadn't even realized was coiling tightly in his body.

Stark's hands were warm and gentle. Light pulses of his reiatsu sent a gentle buzz across Jyuushiro's skin.

"It would've been easier, you know. And safer in the long run."

Jyuushiro blinked. "What?"

"If you'd denied it. If you said we were just friends. That you were just taking me under wing."

Jyuushiro reached up, laying a hand over Stark's own, and twisted around to look up at his face. "You really think I'm that sort of person?"

"I think that there are better things to fight for," the Arrancar returned, a strange look in his eyes – such an odd mixture of blue and grey and almost purple. Jyuushiro never could tell which they were supposed to be.

Frowning, Jyuushiro rose to his feet. But the tightness in his lungs grew unbearable, and he curled into himself instead. Quickly covering his mouth to conceal the wet coughing. Stark instantly knelt at his side, one hand rubbing Jyuushiro's back as he fought through the spasms.

Having been through this before, Stark was quick to send his other hand diving into Jyuushiro's pocket and to where the captain was wise to keep a handkerchief doused in medicine at all times. Soon, the vaguely minty scent of the medicine was pressed to Jyuushiro's mouth. The soothing smell eased the clenching of his lungs and throat.

"You… idiot," Jyuushiro grated out once the coughing laxed enough that he could manage a few words. His free hand slipped out, grasping onto the front of Stark's sleep robe and dragging him closer. "You heard all of that… and you're still saying this?" he demanded from behind the cloth.

Exasperation fluttered across Stark's face as he rolled his eyes. "You can't wait to chastise me until you've started breathing properly?"

Jyuushiro glared at the man who'd become his lover and maybe something a bit more along the way. He dropped the handkerchief, drawing in slow and steady breaths with only the occasional twinge of pain to ruin the effort.

"Am I that untrustworthy?" he rasped.

Stark sighed and rose to his feet, dragging Jyuushiro with him until they stood nearly face to face. "You know that's not it," he said, and his gaze was everywhere but on Jyuushiro's eyes. "But you and I both know that the only reason I'm still alive is by the grace of Seireitei's higher powers. I can't imagine they'd take too kindly to us. I might be accused of corrupting you, as Kuchiki-taichou so helpfully pointed out."

Jyuushiro snorted, though the reaction made him wince. "If I've not let them defeat me regarding Shunsui, then I'm not bothered about a scandal either." He reached up with his free hand, grabbing Stark's chin and forcing the man to look at him. "Unless, of course, you decide to abandon me first."

Stark's eyes widened noticeably, and a fierce expression fluttered across his face before he closed the space between them. His lips sealed over Jyuushiro's mouth. It was an answer, perhaps not verbal, but an answer all the same. His lover eagerly returned the kiss, Stark's lips pressing against his and a tongue sliding into his mouth. One of the lieutenant's arms slid around Jyuushiro's waist, pulling them together.

"I'm an idiot," Stark mumbled into the kiss as they melded together. "And a coward as well."

"I don't think so," Jyuushiro replied, one arm slipping around Stark and pressing his fingers gently against the man's back. "Overly cautious perhaps. Maybe even a tad too honorable for your own good."

"I didn't know Hollows had honor," Stark muttered, but he shivered nonetheless as Jyuushiro's fingers traced familiar, erotic paths.

He nibbled on Stark's jaw, lips moving lower to the sensitive flesh of his throat as his hair brushed the white bone of his mask. He felt a minute tremble rock his lover's body as Jyuushiro neared one of his more responsive erogenous zones.

"We could stand here and argue niceties all morning," Jyuushiro whispered, fingers tracing the curve of Stark's spine and each knob of bone. "Or we could return to bed – where we should've never left I may add – and continue this. Entirely up to you, my wolf."

Stark groaned low in his throat as Jyuushiro's tongue flicked across the top of his mask. "Or I could take you right here," he murmured with a hint of wickedness in his tone as he pressed against Jyuushiro, the rigid length of his arousal obvious.

"Sounds good to me," Jyuushiro said and dragged his lips back to Stark's mouth, sealing them together in a deep kiss.

Byakuya's accusations and concerns were far, far from Jyuushiro's mind as Stark proceeded to tangle their tongues, hands roaming in all the right places. And untouched tea was quickly swept aside to make room on the table. Unsurprisingly, Jyuushiro didn't even mind the mess.

* * *

Jyuushiro was sleeping when he felt it, just a vague stirring on the edge of his senses. A tickle across his back. A feeling of warmth like a spring day pulsing over his skin. A sense that something had returned, something had finally clicked into place.

He woke with a start, heart building a steady beat in his chest. Jyuushiro pushed himself out of the warm circle of Stark's arms before he even realized what he was doing. Sitting up, pulling the folds of his nemaki around him as he concentrated on the gentle reiatsu that seemed to call to him.

It was still night or early, early morning. The sky was dark. Air crisp, cool, and damp. Jyuushiro could smell flowers on the breeze through his open window. Behind him, Stark stirred with a murmured noise, one hand stretching across the mattress in search of him.

"Jyuu?"

He shook his head as that tickle increased to the ghostly flicker of a hand on his, squeezing gently. To laughter that was warm like honey. To a familiar voice and the taste of sake and the scent of springtime.

Jyuushiro was on his feet in a flash, feeling an answering pulse from Sougyo no Kotowari. His zanpakutou had felt the reiatsu as well.

"Jyuu!"

A hand flashed out, fingers wrapping around his wrist. He blinked, turning to find that Stark was looking at him. A small frown marred his otherwise cute and sleepy expression.

"I have to get to the fourth division," Jyuushiro said. A part of him wanted to tug away from Stark as he struggled, stretched out to cross the distance.

Stark swung his legs out of bed, rising to his feet in a motion that was more stumble than anything. But he never once lost his hold on Jyuushiro's wrist.

"Is it…?"

Swallowing thickly, Jyuushiro nodded. "I think so." He shook his head, resolve flashing in his eyes. "No. I _know_ so."

He reached for his yukata, fixing the loosened sides and retying the obi. Jyuushiro didn't plan to do anything more than throw on an over robe and slide into a pair of loose slippers. He didn't care how he looked; he needed to get to the fourth. And right now, no matter what time of day or night it was.

"I'll go with you," Stark insisted. Then he moved, suddenly awake, as if magically going from sleepy to alert in the blink of an eye.

He threw Jyuushiro's his captain's haori, which would serve as a good cover if nothing else, and reached for a robe of his own. It was a midnight-blue ensemble that Jyuushiro had picked out for him several weeks ago. At the time, he'd admired the way the dark color highlighted Stark's eyes. Even now, he took a moment to appreciate the look before the call pinged on his senses again, and Jyuushiro stirred into motion.

Stark grabbed some sandals, and together, they slipped into the night to flit through Seireitei toward the fourth division. Jyuushiro's heart hammered in his chest, hope surging and swelling in him like the rise of high tide. His reiatsu surged without his consent, cloaking Jyuushiro's body in a relative hum of eagerness. He couldn't tamp it down, however, and he was surprised that he hadn't yet woken half the damn city as they raced through the streets.

Years of constantly visiting the fourth had given Jyuushiro exclusive privileges to come in whenever he wanted. Of course, that was usually for his own illness, but at the moment, Jyuushiro just didn't care. He did little more than nod to the woman seated at the front desk before he hurried to Shunsui's room. The ping on the edge of his senses grew louder and stronger, now more of a low drone like a hive of busy bees.

Shunsui's room came into view, but before Jyuushiro could enter the door, fingers locked around his upper arm. He came to a halt, whirling with a question on his lips. Only to have it quickly smothered by Stark's mouth and a fierce, demanding kiss. Stark's familiar reiatsu brushed against his own, tangling gently at the edge as the kiss softened. His lover's lips moved in a rare show of vulnerability.

"I'm still here," Stark murmured, voice carrying no further than the two of them in the hushed and empty hallway.

Some of the frantic, anxiousness coiling inside of Jyuushiro eased, and he took a deep breath, nodding mutely. It was a testament to their relationship how much Jyuushiro understood from those simple words. And how much Stark understood from Jyuushiro's equally simple response.

The fingers around Jyuushiro's arm loosened, giving him room to step through the door. Stark was a warm, familiar presence behind him.

Immediately inside the darkened room, Jyuushiro felt the stirring of a reiatsu that had slept for too long. The entire room hummed with it: floor and walls, even the vase on a bedside table. Jyuushiro wondered why no one else had sensed it, the feeling so palpable that it trickled across his skin like a lover's caress. But then, Stark didn't seem to feel anything strange, his face filled with concern for Jyuushiro and nothing else.

Breath bated, the captain pushed himself toward the bed and its lone occupant, knowing his own reiatsu answered the vibrating call. Warmth blossomed as the tendrils of Jyuushiro's energy entwined with the seeking curls of Shunsui's own. The moment his fingers slid around Shunsui's hand, he could feel an answering pulse.

Shunsui twitched, and a hand once lax squeezed Jyuushiro's gently in return. He felt heat bank behind his eyes as he heard – actually heard not just saw – Shunsui take a breath before his eyelids fluttered open. His gaze was unfocused, but he turned his head and seemed to find Jyuushiro nonetheless. His grip tightened and tightened as though desperate to be grounded.

"Jyuu?"

Jyuushiro felt like dropping to his knees and bawling out of sheer relief. But he settled for a wobbly fall onto Shunsui's bed as he embraced his best and dearest friend. No, more than that. Shunsui was more like the other half of his soul. Not in a romantic sense but in every other way. Friend and brother and everything else in between.

Their reiatsu clashed and instantly entangled. Jyuushiro could feel the weakness in Shunsui's energy. It was barely more than a fledgling at the Academy but obviously growing in strength the more seconds passed.

"You're awake," Jyuushiro said, throat thick as he felt Shunsui return the embrace, the warm weight of arm falling around his back. "I knew you would."

He heard Shunsui swallow before attempting to speak. "What… what happened?" Shunsui asked. His voice was a raspy, familiar rumble that made joy blossom through Jyuushiro all over again at just hearing it.

"You don't remember?" he asked, pulling back enough to see Shunsui's face. Jyuushiro unlinked their fingers and brushed hair out of Shunsui's eyes.

Shunsui shook his head, blinking slowly like a man coming out of a long and deep sleep and still waded through the resulting fog. "I remember… Aizen. The battle. The Hougyoku. A feeling like someone had sucked everything out of me. Breath, heat, power. And then… nothing."

"You destroyed the Hougyoku," Jyuushiro explained.

That particular action was something he'd relived night after night. Dream after nightmare. Over and over in his head, wondering if he could have done something different.

"And it nearly took you with it."

Grimacing, a brief darkness entered Shunsui's eyes. "And Aizen?"

"Dead. Along with most of his associates. If not for Ichigo-kun…" Jyuushiro trailed off, unwilling to go back into the heart of madness that was the war.

It was over, done with, Aizen defeated. No need to delve into the past. None at all.

"It doesn't matter. The war's over."

"It's nice to wake to good news," Shunsui commented with a hoarse chuckle before he focused on Jyuushiro, concern further darkening his eyes. "How long?"

"Too long," his friend replied and forced himself to swallow again, swallow down the tears that wanted to emerge. He hadn't cried the whole time Shunsui was locked in a coma, and he refused to let them fall now. "But don't worry, between Ise-san and myself, your division is in tip-top shape. Just waiting for you to come back."

A small sigh slipped past Shunsui's lips. "Ah, my sweet Nanao-chan. I can't wait to see her tear-stricken, relieved face."

Jyuushiro shook his head, a smile twitching his mouth. "She's more likely to give you the stack of paperwork that's been waiting for you."

The soft, rough laughter from Shunsui was music to Jyuushiro's ears. Their reiatsu was tangling together in familiar ways, and Jyuushiro could hardly breathe under the relief that was spreading through him.

And then, Shunsui's gaze drifted past Jyuushiro to the man who stood just behind him. A man Jyuushiro ashamedly admitted to himself he'd almost forgotten was there.

"Oh ho!" Shunsui put in. "What's this? It seems I've missed something while I've been gone."

And despite the fatigue that lined his face and the shadows under his eyes, Shunsui managed an eyebrow waggle better suited for tawdry bars rather than a bed in the fourth division. Jyuushiro blushed as Stark stepped up beside him, one hand settling firmly on his shoulder.

"A product of Seireitei's mercy," Stark answered with amusement in his tone and perhaps a touch of relief as well. "Coyote Stark at your service."

"We're lovers," Jyuushiro added, sensing that Stark wasn't going to introduce himself as such, and Jyuushiro himself wasn't ashamed. "He helped keep me together when everyone else started to lose faith in you."

"Ah, then I owe you my gratitude," Shunsui commented conversationally. But it was a cover for the way his eyes studied Stark. As if weighing and measuring him and making sure he really was good enough for Jyuushiro.

"None needed," Stark replied, and when Jyuushiro turned his head to look at him, he caught a fond smile curling Stark's lips. "Jyuushiro healed me as well."

An urge to kiss Stark rose up in Jyuushiro so strongly he was surprised at himself for not following through with it. Instead, he placed his hand over Stark's and squeezed firmly. There was a strange, bubbly happiness inside him, and he was overwhelmed with urges to cry and laugh and smile and bathe both of his two favorite people in kisses and hugs until exhaustion overcame him.

Soft laughter dragged Jyuushiro's attention back to Shunsui, whose eyes were sparking with familiar humor. "You two are so cute," he all but cooed, his teasing quickly broken by a jaw-cracking yawn.

Strange how someone could be trapped in a coma but still wake as though they hadn't slept for days.

Jyuushiro's free hand groped for Shunsui's again. "Get some sleep," he said, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. "No doubt you're going to have a lot of visitors tomorrow."

"Think Retsu-senpai will be surprised?" Shunsui asked with a chuckle, eyes obediently sliding shut.

"I know she will," Jyuushiro replied and squeezed Shunsui's hand again, finding himself unwilling to let go.

Shunsui was conscious, awake, _alive_ , and Jyuushiro couldn't be more pleased. But there was a lingering fear that Shunsui could slip away from him again. Jyuushiro fought that irrational worry down, settling for contenting himself with watching his friend settle once more into sleep. A sleep that seemed far more restful and healing. Color was already returning to his face, and the gentle buzz of his reiatsu was a steady presence coiling together with Jyuushiro's own. As fierce as the mountain wind but as gentle as a spring breeze all at once. Playful as a child's game but with an edge underneath that was hidden in the shadows.

Stark remained behind Jyuushiro, a silent, steady presence that leant support and demanded nothing. If someone had told him months and months beforehand, that one day he'd be relying on one of Aizen's minions, that he'd fall into something deep and loving with an Arrancar, he'd have asked them which of Shunsui's special stock they'd stolen. Jyuushiro couldn't have expected today's reality. He couldn't have anticipated how much Stark would come to mean to him.

Shunsui's breathing evened out, and Jyuushiro rose to his feet, loosening his hold and pressing a soft kiss to his dear friend's forehead. Shunsui didn't stir, but his skin was warm to Jyuushiro's lips. A startling contrast to the former tepid, almost chill that Shunsui radiated during his coma.

Shunsui was awake. Alive. He was going to be just fine.

"Jyuu?"

Both of Stark's hands were on Jyuushiro's shoulders now, squeezing and rubbing. Soothing motions that were accompanied by soft brushes of his reiatsu, reassuring pulses that spread warmth through Jyuushiro's body. He closed his eyes, leaning back against his lover and allowing himself to be enfolded in the man's embrace. Stark's scent, that wonderful mix of almonds and juniper surrounded Jyuushiro. He sighed softly.

"I'm fine," Jyuushiro assured him, enjoying the press of Stark's face against his cheek. "I'm really and truly fine."

For once, it didn't even sound like a lie.

 

***


End file.
